Hey, love. You didn’t answer my email yet, so I’d hoped to reach you by phone, though I know it’s not your favorite. What kind of problem are you having with your mum? You should let me know if something’s wrong. I know you haven’t wanted me to come before, but I’ll fly back in a heartbeat if you need me. But would you please ring me either way? Your message worried me and I’d like to hear your voice. I love you, Sammy.

My chest is so tight I can hardly breathe. I don’t want him to come here, don’t want him to see how pathetic my life is. I just want him to tell me what he knows about why Mom is the way she is. Even if I wanted to call him back, I doubt I’d be able to produce any words. I hate using phones for their original intended purpose. It’s like Alexander Graham Bell wondered, Hey, what could maximize the awkwardness of human-to-human communication? And then answered himself by giving us the ability to speak to one another through stupid disembodied little boxes.

If only one of Zoe’s summons to Starworld had been my wake-up call. I shove my phone into the pocket of my pajama pants and slink down to the kitchen.

Mom is sitting on one of the bar stools scrolling through something on her laptop, already close to the bottom of the pot of coffee she must have brewed at the asscrack of dawn or whenever she got up.

“Good morning, honey,” she says.

I mutter something noncommittal and pour myself a bowl of Cap’n Crunch big enough to put a rhino into a sugar coma. I can’t decide what — if anything — to tell her about the message Dad left. She’d probably be better off not knowing he reached out at all, but talking to her about visiting London might be a way to test the waters about leaving for good. Maybe I should try not accommodating her for once, like the article said.

“Dad invited me to visit London,” I say.

Mom looks up, startled.

I grab the milk out of the fridge. “What do you think? Would you be okay here by yourself?”

“Of course,” she says, like I’m bonkershit for asking. “But when did he ask you? I’ve told him to check with me first before doing things like that. All it ever does is upset you.”

“What are you talking about?” I set the milk on the counter and turn to her. “It upsets me that he ditched me! It upsets me that I haven’t seen him in years.”